It only takes two bites of eggs before she puts her fork down. Either she hates the eggs or she can’t hold it in anymore. “Joe offered me a regular gig. Not for open mike, but playing on the weekends. If I... You know, if I stuck around. He’d pay me a couple hundred a week to perform on Friday nights. Maybe more, if the interest builds up. Plus tips.”
Oh, shit. Wow. “That’s great. You’d want that?”
Holy fuck, that would be a really great job for her. Nothing wrong with baking muffins, but it isn’t what she loves. She loves music, and I wouldn’t want to hold her back. If she could stay here and still sing... It’s a risky hope.
Her cheeks go dark red. “I think— Yeah. I would. I forgot how much I liked to be on stage. I stopped performing back home because people whispered and stared at me. I loved it before. I love singing. And umm... Delia, she wants to cut back her hours. So if I did want to stick around, I’d also probably be making more money at the bakery.”
“If you did want to stick around. Do you?”
She looks at me carefully, like she’s afraid to answer. “It’s a great little town. I had this big plan of driving across the country, and after being here for a few weeks, I’m not as excited about that plan. The people here are nice. It’s quiet, but it’s not totally boring. I can see why you chose to settle down here.”
Something she isn’t saying hangs in the air. “It seems like there’s a ‘but’ somewhere in there,” I say.
She tips her head to the side. “I guess it depends a little on you. Not that I’d stay or go solely for a guy, but if you didn’t want me to stay at all, things could get uncomfortable fast. So it matters what you think. It matters to me whether or not you want me to stay.”
I wanted Cassie to stay here with me so bad it made me fucking ache. But... but...
I close my fist around the knife by my plate, letting the blade cut in enough to keep me focused. “I do want you to stay. There’s something you need to know first, though.”
18. HOW TO GET IT CRISPY
Cassie
“Wait. Don’t.”
I hold my hand up so fast you’d think I was refereeing a high-stakes game of Red Light, Green Light. We used to play that in school, and I think now about the frantic running toward some lame tape line Coach Rigsby had put on the gym floor. The equally frantic stopping.
My stomach clenches as I call a halt to whatever desperate confession Jake is about to blurt out. Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Not yet.
Call me crazy. Call me stupid. Call me in denial. I don’t care. My mother is dead. I’m here in this strange town that’s starting to be actually un-strange, and I’m with this guy who makes me feel good. Really good... I would say loved, if I had the nerve to admit that to myself.
Boy, I do like him. An awful lot.
The look on his face tells me whatever he needs to say is going to shatter us both, and I’m not ready to let go of the first slice of good I’ve found in so long. So instead, I take another bite of my eggs. “These are the best eggs I’ve ever had,” I say with forced cheerfulness.
He looks confused and sort of angry. The way his jaw works and his fingertips are turning white on the tabletop, I’m sure he’s about to argue, but then he doesn’t. His hands flatten by his plate for a moment, and then he actually starts to eat his own food. “Butter and garlic. Mom’s secret. She taught me to make them when I was a kid.”
“How old were you when she died?”
He takes a bite and then a swallow of juice before he answers. “Fifteen.”
Oh. Wow. In front of me is this massive, grown-up man, but I can picture so clearly what he must have been like, a teenaged boy learning to cook from his mother. I love the sweetness, but the sadness is overwhelming. I lost my mom, but at least I was old enough to take care of myself when it happened.
“You must miss her a lot.”
He nods down at his placemat, frowning. “I mean, I was old enough to handle it. Not old enough to understand why my dad couldn’t. It sucked. But you know. You lost your mom, too. At least I still had my dad around. Sort of.”
“Yeah. Mine was never around.” I don’t say that much. I prefer to think I simply never had a father. Like my mom picked me up at a boutique somewhere. It’s easier.
I reach over, trying not to spook Jake as I rub the top of his hand. “How did you guys manage? You said your dad kind of checked out.”
Jake drops his chin to the top of his fist. “For a while, yeah. He perked up when he met Mariana. Seemed good, at first.”
Suddenly I can feel it. Tension, vibrating around us in the room like live lines of electricity. I’m afraid to ask the next question. The shift in atmosphere tells me I’m taking a risk. I ask anyway: “What happened?”